


funny how we thought it was simple

by WhatATime



Series: frisky little flash (shorter fics) [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Bonding, Brotherly Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Good Bro Jason Todd, Good Older Sibling Jason Todd, Good Sibling Jason Todd, Hurt/Comfort, Tim Drake Angst, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 12:44:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20966774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatATime/pseuds/WhatATime
Summary: The guy at the sandwich place got Tim's sub wrong. Jason helps out.





	funny how we thought it was simple

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! 
> 
> It's been a bit. I've done *so* much work for my novel, freelance writing biz, and school that I've had to neglect AO3. I didn't post all of September (though I tried and failed). In this story, I'm showing y'all a side to my style that I've repressed from AO3. I'm not going to tell you the biggest difference 'till the end so that it doesn't affect your experience. Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy the story.
> 
> Writer out

_ There’s a villain in this house. There’s a villain in this house, and he wants to kill you. There’s a villain in this house, and he wants to kill you, and he might if you’re not careful. Be careful. Be very careful so that the villain doesn’t kill you like he wants to. _

Cold tile of the kitchen. 1am. Lights in the house off. Room temp ham salami bologna sandwich with provolone on white. Hydrogel sounds nice, Tim thinks.

Thump. Groan. Jason. Why’re all the lights off?

Dot dot dot.

I know you’re up.

Dot dot dot.

Turn a light on, please? I can’t navigate the dark like you. Some of us are human.

Dot dot dot. Click. 

Thank you. Jason staggers into the kitchen, frowning and squinting. Why’re you still up?

Dot dot dot.

I tripped on your Damian’s stupid cat. Are you cat sitting?

Dot dot dot.

Kitten, who had been sleeping by the front door, comes into the kitchen and circles Jason, stupid little thing.

Make it get off. He bends down to smooth out the fur.

Dot dot dot.

What happened to your hand?

Hydrogel dressings.

What? Did someone brush against your hand at the grocery store? God forbid you come in contact with an actual human. You’re such a melodramatic germophobe, Timmy, I—

I burnt myself.

And a pot it looks like. Jason glances at the trashcan. You should get that checked out by a doctor.

Tim pats the spot next to him.

Jason shakes his head but obliges.

Dot dot dot.

Dash dash dash.

Dot dot dot.

Dash dash dash.

Dot dot dot.

Dash dash dash

Dot dot— There are five slices of cheese in the sandwich. I counted the slices of cheese and meat as the man was making it, and he put five slices of cheese on it. He put five slices of cheese, but I don’t know if he put in one extra or cheated me a slice. The slices are triangles like some of Button’s kibble, the orange ones that are rough and give grains. I don’t know how many slices of cheese were supposed to go on the sandwich, but I don’t think he was supposed to put five slices of cheese on my sandwich, but I couldn’t say anything because he had already closed the sandwich and there was someone else having their sandwich made who didn’t want cheese but already had three slices. I— It’s dirty, too. The guy who made my sandwich had probably been wearing those gloves his whole shift. They don’t take the gloves off for anything. They touch the machine that rings you up with the same gloves they make your sandwich with, so it probably has the flu on it, in it. I could probably overlook the fact that I will die from eating the sandwich if it had the right number of— You really shouldn’t eat the sandwich, Jason. You’ll get the flu or strep throat or something. They’ll take your tonsils like they took mine the Summer before seventh grade. You really shouldn’t eat it. It’s bad if you eat the sandwich, an—

Tim.

Dot dot dot.

Ever notice how you won’t talk to me for days at a time and then you tell your life’s story?

Dot dot dot.

We can trash the sandwich, and I’ll make you a new one. Okay?

Okay.

**Author's Note:**

> No quotation marks, I know. Could you tell before? Tell me in the comments if you could.


End file.
